by Dana Fredsti
I couldn’t argue with him.
“Professor Fraser, may I have a word with you?” Paxton walked out of the room without waiting for a reply. Simone gave me an apologetic glance before following him out.
“Guess he doesn’t want us to hear whatever he has to say.”
“They couldn’t just whisper on the other side of the room?” JT started tapping his foot impatiently.
I pointed at one of my ears. “Wild card hearing, remember?”
Whatever Paxton had to discuss with Simone, it didn’t take very long, maybe five minutes. That was a good thing ‘cause JT didn’t do waiting very well and he was likely to start climbing the walls. Literally.
Simone and Paxton sat back down at the table, Simone taking the seat closest to mine.
“We haven’t set you out on any of the rescue missions because we thought it was too soon after… well, after what happened at Point Cabrillo.”
I bristled visibly. Simone put a hand on my arm and looked at me apologetically.
“Ashley, you went through so very much. We wanted you to have a chance to heal, both physically and emotionally, before asking you to go back out into the field. I realize now that perhaps this wasn’t the best decision for you. I’m sorry.”
Talk about taking the wind out of my self-righteous sails.
Paxton turned to JT.
“What route are you proposing to take, son?”
JT swiveled the highlighted map towards Paxton.
“Under normal circumstances,” he said, “the quickest route from here would be a straight shot down Kirkham to Sunset, then up Sunset to Sloat, then Sloat to 44th.”
“Good thinking,” Paxton said neutrally.
“Yeah,” said JT, “but given the shit ton of people who live in the inner and outer Sunset and who are probably now zombies, I’m thinking the open space reserve in back of UCSF here might be a safer bet. We might run into a few zoms, sure, but not as many. Then we hook up with Crestmont Drive above the reservoir, and then cut across Laguna Honda to the chichi neighborhood above West Portal.” He flashed a grin at me. “I can never remember the name. Anyway, from there, we hit Stern Grove from beginning to end, and take our chances on the best route the rest of the way.”
Paxton nodded slowly. “Not bad, son. Not bad at all.”
“I figure I can run any distraction needed to keep the zoms off Ash.” JT grinned at me. “Up to and including twerking.”
I groaned, remembering JT’s impromptu twerk-a-thon on a roof when Nathan Tony and I needed some time to raid a Walgreen’s and make our way to a rendezvous point.
Oh well, it had worked, right?
“Very well. “Colonel Paxton sat down. “You’ll take radios and contact us when you’ve arrived, and let us know how many survivors we’ll be extracting. We’ll send at least one sharpshooter to help clear out an area for landing and keep the dead at bay while you board the helicopter.”
Simone cleared her throat. We all looked at her.
“Ashley,” she said, “you shouldn’t be alone on the ground if JT goes bounding off into the ramparts. Both Colonel Paxton and I would feel more comfortable if you took one other wild card with you as well,” he said.
“Fine by me,” I shrugged. “Which one?”
“Well, Gentry and--” Simone smoothed her perfectly coifed blond hair in an almost unconscious gesture. “--Nathan went with the helicopter to Redwood Grove,” Simone said, stumbling almost unperceptively over the name of her sort of kind of boyfriend’s name. I say ‘sort of kind of’ ‘cause they were still working through past history and hadn’t figured their present shit out yet.
“Nathan has a lot of ordinance at his compound,” Simone continued. “Colonel Paxton thought it would be best to bring it here.”
I grinned. I’d been at Nathan’s compound with the rest of my team before we defended Big Red against a zombie swarm and I’d seen his gunroom. To say his weapons collection was a survivalist’s wet dream didn’t do it justice. He’d been loaded for bear. Big honking prehistoric cave bears. And possibly T-Rexes too.
“Okay.” I weighed our options. “So that leaves Lil and Tony. And it can’t be Lil. We’ll be right by the zoo. Last thing we need is her haring off to feed the animals.”
“Or let them out of their cages,” Simone said.
“I think someone already did that,” JT said. “I’m pretty sure I saw lions in the parking lot last time I was over there.”
I groaned. “Great. So lions and tigers and zombies, oh my?”
“Possibly. “
“Okay fine. Tony it is.”
JT looked uncomfortable.
“Um, he kind of took a bad fall yesterday when I was showing him some parkour moves. His wrist is kinda fubar at the moment.”
“And he was going to tell me this when?” Simone raised an eyebrow, once again making me wonder if there was a Vulcan in the woodshed of her family tree.
“I think he was waiting for it to heal on its own.”
Simone heaved a beleaguered sigh. “I’ll go take a look at it when we’re finished here.”
“I feel obliged to point out,” I pointed out, “that this pretty much leaves us with me and JT.”
Colonel Paxton raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”
* * *
“So why are we doing this?” Griff sauntered next to Ashley as they walked with JT down the corridor of the sleeping quarters towards the elevator.
“Because JT made a promise to some cute young thing.” Ash flashed JT a wicked grin. “I believe they pinky swore.”
JT shot Ash a look. “While yes, the young lady in question was undeniably cute, I like to think I’d have promised regardless.”
“Fair enough,” Griff said with a lazy shrug.
All three wore the modified SWAT type gear of joined Kevlar armor covering black BDUs, long sleeved shirts and portable radios. Ash and Griff had firearms and hand weapons. Other than a lightly loaded backpack and a long coil of rope slung crosswise around his shoulder and waist, JT went empty handed. His ability to stay above and away from the zoms was his best defense. He had also made his own modifications in clothing to allow him the freedom of movement needed for parkour, including shoes with more traction and give than Ash and Griff’s lace-up black boots.
Griff also wore an undeniably smug expression. He reminded JT of a cat. And while JT liked cats as a general rule, Griff had the more irritating characteristics that cat haters accused all felines of possessing, including a bad habit of biting the hand that fed him.
If he had any loyalty or attachment, though, even JT could see that it was for Ashley. Griff had saved her life twice in San Diego, lying about it the second time to protect her. He hadn’t done the same favor for the rest of the wild cards, but then again, he’d found Lil after she’d run off to the San Diego Zoo, all because he’d promised Ash that he would.
Griff might not lift a finger to help anyone else, but at least Ash would have reliable backup. And JT would happily take care of his own safety. So maybe he wasn’t the worst person to include on this little expedition.
JT also found it interesting that the two looked so much alike, with vivid green eyes, dark brown hair, and strong, angular features. Kind of like if Jamie and Cersei Lannister had been brunette instead of blond. And if Cersei saved lives instead of taking them.
Oh well, not the best comparison but what the fuck. It’d do, pig. It’d do.
They reached the elevator, taking it to the top floor, where they went through a deceptively bland lobby to the super secret elevator in and out of the DZN Laboratory facility. They rode it up to a glass-enclosed walkway that linked the Center for Regenerative Medicine and one of the medical buildings at UCSF.
Griff started to hit the button that would summon yet another elevator that led to loading docks and a parking lot at ground level, but JT held up one hand.
“Not that way.”
Griff visibly bristled. JT didn’t give a s
hit. This was his party, his charter.
“Why not?” Ash asked. “I mean, what other choice to we have?”
JT pointed over the loading docks to the locked steel gates, all that kept a metric shit ton of zombies from swarming over the drive and loading docks below.
“No way to get out the gates without attracting too much attention.”
Ash nodded. “Or getting eaten.”
“That too.”
Griff folded his arms. “Which way then, smart man?”
JT flashed his manic grin. “I hope neither of you is afraid of heights.”
Ash looked at him warily. “I prefer to think of it as a sensible respect. Why?”
JT’s grin got even wider. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun!”
* * *
Clinging to a strut on the far side of the Center for Regenerative Medicine – what was essentially a glass and metal enclosed platform -- I made my way slowly towards the ground below, concentrating on looking in every direction but down.
This was not my idea of fun. Eating gelato on a hot summer is fun. Watching bad movies with good friends and lots of alcohol is fun. Hell, even thwacking the heads of zombies could be considered a good time. But climbing down a network of metal supports from forty feet above the ground?
So not fun. Maybe even anti-fun.
Then again, if I fell and died, at least I wouldn’t hurt so much any more.
JT and Griff were already waiting for me in the shadow of pine and eucalyptus trees in the nature reserve, hidden from sight of the zombies clustered around the gates. A few stumbled aimlessly up the drive in our general direction, but obviously weren’t aware of the potential meal lurking in the woods.
My foot slipped on the cold metal and I barely stifled a gasp as I slid down a foot or so much faster than planned, my sheathed katana and tanto smacking against one of the struts with a loud clang. Between the swords, my M4 and my Ruger, I made more noise than a nest of rattlesnakes.
Shit.
Stopping my all too rapid descent by grabbing for a vertical piece of metal. My hand did not thank me for having to suddenly bear all my body weight, even for a few seconds. The edge of the strut dug into my palm and it hurt, even with the leather padding on my glove.
Crap crappity crap!
Okay, fine, I wasn’t ready to die yet. On the other hand, I would so kill JT if I didn’t end up in an Ashley shaped splat. Of course, maybe I’d get lucky and land on him.
A plaintive moan told me my misstep had blown our cover. I’d better move it. I could practically feel JT's barely contained impatience to move.
Tough shit, Monkey Boy.
I inched down the trusses and supports, reliving my years as the nerd on the playground at recess.
Five feet from the bottom, the vertical supports ended. I knew it wasn’t all that far, but it took a hefty dose of 'nut up or shut up' for me to dangle by hands and let myself drop the rest of the way. I was even almost grateful for Griff’s supporting hands on my thighs as I let go. At least until one hand lingered overly long on my butt as I landed.
I stepped away, glaring at him.
“My hand slipped.” He didn’t even try for an innocent look.
I smacked him in the ribs hard enough to elicit a satisfying ‘oof.’
“So did my elbow.”
I pushed past him and followed JT deeper into the trees. I heard a chuckle as Griff followed us.
* * *
“Ugh. It stinks in here.”
Jenna wrinkled her nose and shot a pointed look in Dylan’s direction. He flipped her off, but otherwise ignored her. His dark hair had more mats and tangles than a Persian cat with a grooming aversion, and he hadn’t washed in days, not even a mop up with paper towels and hand soap in the small bathroom. None of them were exactly poster children for good hygiene – they’d been stuck in the same clothes for eight days now -- but wet wipes and deodorant helped.
Luke’s sandy blond hair and formerly neatly trimmed mustache and beard had gotten scruffy, and Jenna had taken to wearing her mane of curly, dark brown hair in a tight braid to keep the oil off her skin. Phil, with his bald pate, was lucky. A splash of water and a quick swipe with a razor, and he cleaned up nicely.
Dylan refused to try. His facial hair grew in irregular patterns. He looked worse than Sod had on a bad day. Contestants at the tail end of season of Survivor were cleaner than he was. He’d laid claim to a corner of the store by the deli, making a nest out of now nearly two week-old newspapers, and spent the days thumbing through men’s magazines.
Even worse than Dylan’s funk, though, was the smell of rotting meat. Most of it had been fresh when things had gone south, but once the generator had gone out, it had turned quickly. Stuffing the rotten food into plastic trash bags helped a little bit, but the odor still permeated the store. Putting the bags outside or into the garage wasn’t an option.
They’d opened the garage door once so Luke could dump out the bucket they’d started using for a toilet after the water stopped working. There’d been one lone zombie, what had once been a little boy in Sponge Bob Square Pants footie pajamas. Luke had spotted it and hastily shut the door, but it had already started hobbling across the cement floor towards him, smearing blood from one partially devoured foot in its wake. Its plaintive moans were enough to call in friends and now zombies clawed and pounded at both doors day and night. Opening either one would be suicide.
So they were stuck with the stench.
Still, Dylan wasn’t helping.
“How ‘bout a beer?” Phil held out a six-pack of craft brew IPA, wiggling it enticingly in front of Jenna and Luke.
“Right on,” Luke said with the first enthusiasm he’d shown in days.
Jenna looked at her uncle in surprise. He’d been pretty strict about rationing the alcoholic beverages ever since Dylan had drunk two bottles of Jäegermeister on an empty stomach, and puked up all over the bathroom.
Phil caught his niece’s look and shrugged.
“Figured we could use a break, y’know?”
Jenna nodded. “Yeah, we can. If you don’t mind, though, I’m gonna go for some wine instead.”
“Hey, look at you, Miss Classypants.” Phil reached out and chucked her under the chin. Jenna gave a half-hearted swipe at his hand.
Dylan emitted a loud and juicy belch, apropos of nothing. The other three ignored him.
“Hey,” Phil said. “How do you kill a circus?”
“Go for the juggler,” Jenna said tiredly. She’d laughed the first three times her uncle had tossed this one out, but she didn’t think she had any more laughter in her.
“Guess I’ve already told that one, huh.”
Jenna looked up at Phil’s defeated tone. She threw her arms around him in a sudden, fierce hug.
“You keep telling the jokes, okay? Just let me get me a corkscrew and pour some wine first.”
* * *
The ululating of the pesky zombies who’d tried to follow us from Medical Center Drive had faded away as we moved further into the nature preserve, the fog and trees blanketing the sound and hopefully masking the noise of our movement.
There were several well traveled trails on Mt Sutro, but the nearest to us, the Historic Trail (and whatever made it historic was a mystery to me) wasn’t the most direct route through the woods.
“Still,” I argued when JT pointed this out, “Isn’t it faster to take a cleared path than try and find our way through the trees and hope we stay on course? I mean, unless you brought a compass and a machete…”
JT nodded. “Good point.”
You had to love JT’s lack of investment in being right. It almost made up for his more super-sized ego when it came to his mad parkour skills. I wasn’t sure he was entirely sane, but I trusted him to have my back as long as he paid attention and didn’t get all “squirrel!”, distracted by the next best surface to scale.
We moved as quickly as possible along the sometimes-muddy trail. Dense fog shrouded the trees a
bove us and random tendrils wove their way through the branches. And even if there hadn’t been fog, the streetlights had gone out several nights before and nighttime in San Francisco had taken on a whole new level of dark.
The sound of water dripping on the needle and leaf carpeted forest floor seemed unnaturally loud. The pungent odor of eucalyptus almost masked the now ever-present sweet and sour smell of rotting flesh. An entire city filled with putrefying corpses on the hoof. There wasn’t enough Febreeze in the world to cover it up.
I had to give JT credit – I know he could move a lot faster than the pace he currently set, but he seemed to be making an effort to slow it down so Griff and I could keep up with him without huffing and puffing like out-of-shape ninjas.
Okay, I felt like an out of shape ninja. Griff moved quietly and gracefully, while JT was like the lovechild between a ninja and Tigger on steroids.
The trail angled sharply upwards, mud and pine needles making for treacherous footing. Even JT was finding it a bit tricky, and I was pretty sure he had mountain goat in his genetic makeup.
Griff stopped ahead of me and I barreled into him before I could catch myself. The collision barely moved him. The man was all lean, solid muscle. He smelled like cinnamon and chocolate, and I tried not to wonder if it was his natural scent or if he’d discovered an aftershave guaranteed to attract most women.
Good thing I was immune.
Mostly.
No, I was over bad boys. Without trust between two people, forget it. After what happened in San Diego, Griff would have to walk a few thousand miles to get me to trust him. It wasn’t just about me. It was also about my friends, the people who’d been as much my family as my parents. He’d let them go down without so much as blinking, and that was a deal killer.
Still … Griff smelled good. I’d just try and look at him as a giant sachet against the ever-present stench of necrosis.
